


Contrast

by MUNASHIKU



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Artists, Police
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 08:24:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21335194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MUNASHIKU/pseuds/MUNASHIKU
Summary: Sunstreaker has a 'thing' for colours and Prowl still doesn't really understand why he's the victim of Sunstreaker's artistic vision.
Relationships: Prowl/Sunstreaker
Kudos: 35





	Contrast

To the untrained eye, Prowl was merely a human police vehicle with the standard-issue coloured dome light bar. To Sunstreaker, he was an exquisite example of contrasting colours in both value and hue. 

White and black are the ultimate and simplest example of contrast in art. A dichotomy depicted since the beginning of time, white to represent good, black to represent evil—the yin and yang of crime and justice, order and chaos, morality in its simplest and unmuddled depiction in polarity to the bot beneath the armour.

The swaths of grey that cover his legs and abdomen, a reminder that law enforcement isn’t all black and white—it has greys; you need greys in life to appreciate the moments in between pure black and pure white. You need greys to understand depth, to see the world in three dimensions, something that only black or white alone cannot do, but can accomplish when combined.

And he dare not forget both the markings on the tactical mech, but the lightbar as well. Red, yellow, and blue—the primary colours of the colour wheel, and all of them considered contrasting colours. The red of his chevron, the red arrow of his—his crotch… The blue and yellow of his patrol decal and light bar (His light bar used to be just red, but an upgrade made it a sleek rectangle of blue, yellow, and red)… Absolute perfection.

White and black was often used in human art inking. Sunstreaker had terabytes of inked artwork, finding the pieces with larger amount of black ink involved to excite him. The techniques humans used to make shading appear in a completely black and white image—grey areas created with black hatches on white paper… he couldn’t get enough of it.

Before Earth, Prowl was a passing glance to Sunstreaker. That was to be expected—Sunstreaker was a less experienced artist back then, one who was still learning everything there was to know about art. Too busy to focus on something as simple as contrast when he had more complex things to think about! But here, on Earth, he was more wise. Good artists went back to the basics even if it seemed like they were masters of art. Never forget your roots.

Prowl didn’t quite understand the fascination behind Sunstreaker’s attentions, and found it almost disconcerting when he’d entered Sunstreaker and Sideswipe’s quarters unannounced one day and found a painted canvas of what was undoubtedly his crotch propped up near the bed. The black of his plating was deep, bold, and the red arrow intense, sharp yellow lines of his decals with precision as though he’d been standing there when Sunstreaker was painting for the greatest accuracy.

He’d explained to Prowl about how he had a great paint job. Didn’t Jazz have the same colours as him? Apparently he doesn’t understand that there isn’t ‘enough contrast’ on Jazz to qualify like he unintentionally is.

Not that he minds not understanding. Not when there’s a golden mech caressing his frame.

“Prowl,” Sunstreaker gasped between a kiss, pushing the bot up against the wall next to the door that was still in the process of closing when the enforcer entered the twins’ quarters.

“Mmf!” he was caught off guard at the suddenness of the mech’s actions, but had let himself be guided to the wall beside the entrance.

“I was thinking about you, when doing inks for a comic today.” His hands explored all over, almost frantically, squeezing in random places, causing Prowl to jerk whenever it was on a sensitive area.

“Me?” the cop pushed against his touches, the ministrations forcing his body to warm before he was even ready to engage.

“Yeah…” Sunstreaker seemed to be focused heavily on Prowl’s forearms and abdomen, rubbing them with fervor, leaving no seam untouched, “Ever heard of a character called Batman?”

“Of course.” Batman, the vigilante disliked by cops. Inadvertently helping the cops with problems they probably couldn’t resolve on their own—villains too great for their current tactics and weaponry.

“Well, he’s got a _lot _of black on his costume… and his costume can be quite reflective, oh… I put so much ink into it, and all of that black got me feelin’ tingly,” he reached up, tracing fingers against the borders of “POLICE” on his doorwings. “Made me wanna… wanna… well, I think you know because we’re here.”

He pressed down harder on the lettering and scraped, as if wanting to take the paint off and keep it for himself. Prowl winced at the rough handling.

“It’s almost never enough with you, though. I want to touch you, keep you,” Sunstreaker growled, head moving down to the grey neck cabling where he nuzzled in. “I want to be surrounded by your black and white, inside me, until the ink runs dry…”

Prowl tended to ignore when Sunstreaker started mumbling about art stuff during their interfacing. Mostly because he didn’t understand—that’s something that he seemed to think a lot when around Sunstreaker, despite having fought by his side for years on earth now, he still didn’t get the picture of a lot of Sunstreaker’s quirks and obsessions revolving around art.

To Prowl, art was a waste of time. He’d said it to Sunstreaker during a frag once.

_“Why—ahh—why do you keep rambling on about your art while we’re fragging? Am I so boring that your mind must wander to you painting?” Golden hips pistoned against black ones, leaving golden streaks from the force of the thrusts._

_“Nothing like that, Prowl. I’m appreciating you.” The frontliner purred, leaning down to bite on Prowl’s lip, and to attempt to smother any further conversation from him. Prowl frowned and turned his head away after a moment._

_“Why waste this time together talking about art now when you could do—do—dhhh…” Sunstreaker was tracing circles around his headlights. Damn the mech for using it as an easy distraction tactic._

_“Art isn’t a waste of anything. Art is why we’re here right now.”_

_“I’m here now because you like my paintjob, but I’m not fond of hearing about nothing but colours.”_

_“Yeah? I’ll make you see colours,” Sunstreaker snarled. _

That was one of the roughest frags Prowl had with Sunstreaker, and had left him bow-legged for days. That sounds good on paper, but Prowl would prefer not to sustain enough damage to affect his _walking performance_. It felt good, pit yes, but not worth it.

To Prowl, art didn’t save lives. But Sunstreaker made it very clear on multiple occasions that if he didn’t have art to focus on, a lot of bad things could occur. Things that gave Enforcers a reason to have a job.

Would Prowl rather that Sunstreaker be a criminal, or a bot with a weird fetish for art (who was under the impression that art was saving his own life from one of crime)?

“You know what I want,” Sunstreaker suddenly pulled away and an intense expression on his face.

Prowl frowned, “Is this that whole ‘primary colour’ thing again?” He received a loud engine rev in response. “You know I don’t do that unless you’ve done something wrong.”

Sunstreaker snorted. “I know.” He released Prowl, taking a step back before opening the door.

“Have you looked at our room lately?” that was the last thing the twin said before transforming and speeding off down the hallway.

Prowl blinked. He’d been blindsided by Sunstreaker upon entry so that he didn’t see the mech had covered once-orange walls in black and white streaks. The ceiling was a painting of the American flag—red, white, blue, and yellow—with the floor being a drab grey.

This was so against the regulations.

“You know you have to get approval for large changes like this!” Prowl yelled out to Sunstreaker, who may or may not have been out of range by that point.

Body still wracked with charge caused by Sunstreaker’s touches, he huffed and folded himself down into his alt mode, before flashing his lightbar and sirens wailed as he took off after the mech.

Truth be told, he _loved _chasing. He was built for the hunt, coding hardwired to praise any form of ‘catch and retrieve’. It was something in all Enforcer coding. The miscreant knew this and always used it to his advantage. Used it to—to get off on the colour of his lightbar, or something. Prowl didn’t know how it worked.

And of course, half an hour of tracking down the open desert roads, the Lambo was caught. Engine hot and body shuddering with every quick revolution of the powerful engine, subdued by a force of black and white, complimented by the alternating blue, red, and yellow wigwags that lit up the black night sky.

“Yes, _yes,_” the mech beneath him hissed into the ground, hips wiggling against the Enforcer’s hips even as his arms were bound behind his back.

“Technically you haven’t broken regulation that requires brig sentencing since it’s your own room—“ Prowl began.

“I didn’t get Sideswipe’s permission to do it, Officer,” Sunstreaker retorted. Prowl’s engine hiccupped at the use of that title, leaned in to put more pressure on the twin’s arms, pushing his front into the ground more and making it harder for Sunstreaker to look over his shoulder.

“Well then, I guess,” he purred into Sunstreaker’s audial, “that you are under arrest.” He snapped inactivated stasis cuffs onto the caught mech’s wrists, keeping the power off so that he could still struggle if he actually wanted to.

Not an official arrest, but Prowl had a—a thing. Sunstreaker didn’t quite understand it, how someone as stringent and uptight as Prowl could have a cop fetish when he himself was a cop. Sunstreaker had thought that only the corrupt Enforcers would misuse their powers—search and frisk and “You’ll do anything to get out of the ticket, right?”—but to see someone like _Prowl _come so undone doing something that was his job, in a purely consensual manner… it confused him.

Prowl did admit that it wasn’t something he found sexually appealing when it came to real world situations, but after a long, hard chase, his fellow Enforcers would bang out the charge generated from the call. Strictly only after the suspect had been detained and processed. No funny business beforehand.

Sunstreaker likened it to his attraction for art and left it at that. Whatever lets him sleep at night.

“I guess I am,” he admitted in defeat. “You gonna read my—what do the humans call it? The Miranda rights?”

“Well, normally humans only read it off when they need to question the suspect.” Prowl maneuvered Sunstreaker onto his back, taking in the sight of all that gold against a desert landscape.

Sunstreaker’s optics weren’t focused on Prowl’s hands as they danced along his frame, poking and prodding in a faux display of patting down. The flashing lights on the top of his shoulders (thank Primus for the alterations made to his frame design thanks to his new alt mode) held control of his gaze. The strength of the light bled into his vision, causing ghosting and pixilation where it shouldn’t be, thanks to how dark the surrounding area was.

“You are so hot, Officer,” he whispered, legs opening in proposition.

“You shouldn’t say that. It might incriminate you in court,” Prowl slid his hands underneath Sunstreaker’s knees to bend them up toward his chest. The colours danced along Prowl’s glossy black arms, drawing Sunstreaker’s attention away from the lightbars. Colours streaked from momentary visual overexposure, making a stunning light effect that, in Sunstreaker’s _professional _artistic opinion, was downright _sexy_.

“You don’t even know how perfect you are,” he grunted as Prowl’s groin made contact with his own covered panel, and for a moment he looked at that bright red arrow against a black background as it pointed down to where their crotches made contact, wiggling with the grind.

“There is no such thing as perfect,” Prowl frowned, palming Sunstreaker’s face in thought, a thumb drifting over plump lips that let a tongue slip past and lick at the joint of the thumb.

“Your colours are,” he objected, wishing that he could once again reach out and touch Prowl’s plating, to grab at the paint, imagine it was _his_, that he could wear those colours as perfectly as Prowl did. “Your colours match everything about you; your job, your personality, your coding, your frame… it’s all perfect contrast.”

Prowl leaned back for a moment, looking down at his capture in evaluation. Sunstreaker preened—he knew the look of someone appraising art. His panel clicked open without shame.

“My colours will change over time as the design of the humans’ law enforcement vehicles do, which means I may no longer be a ‘perfect’ colour scheme for you anymore.”

“Well… Art changes, too. What I may consider perfect in you now may change in the future,” he clamped his legs around Prowl’s hips, locking them together. “But until black and white goes out of style, shut up and tell me I have a right to an overload!”

Prowl smirked. “And an overload will be provided to you one way or another.”


End file.
